


Family Matters

by Anonymous



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Daddy Graves, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, First Time, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Original Percival Graves, Oral Knotting, Parent/Child Incest, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Rimming, Shameless Smut, ahaha, but which one?, fancast: Jeffrey Dean Morgan as Papa Graves, graves shushing during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 14:24:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11277108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: All his life, Clayton Graves thought he'd be raising his son, his pride and joy, as another Alpha, with all the responsibilites that entailed.Unfortunately, as the saying goes, 'Morgana cackles at mortals plans.'





	Family Matters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rospeaks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rospeaks/gifts).



> based on the fabulous canon by rospeaks about Omega!Percy and all that entails. his Daddy was his first and therefore he's gonna grow up with a rather skewed version of how bonding/mating should go.

                                                                               

* * *

 

At work he had a name, a title, a purpose.

At home, he was only one thing, he was Papa.

Clayton Graves had made many accomplishments with MACUSA and in America, but his pride and joy was his son, Percy.

Percival Clayton Graves Junior.

He was a strong and courageous boy who Clayton knew one day would be just like him, better, he hoped. He would love to see his son carve out a legacy for himself as President. It would be fitting, as one of the descendants of the Founding Twelve.

His dreams all came crashing down the week after Percy’s sixteenth birthday, mid-summer, while he was home from Ilvermorny, as most foundling children would do, returning to stay at home and study hard before returning to school in the fall. His son was a great student, and diligent with his studies, early to rise and early to bed, so when Clayton returned home around three in the afternoon on a Friday, to find no sign of Percy anywhere, he was mildly concerned, to put it lightly.

The sun was shining outside, as the pond sparkled from the window, and there was simply no excuse to remain abed so late. Unless Percy had already been out, and was now merely taking a nap? According the house elf, he’d not left his room all day, so dash it all to that theory.

Clayton didn’t so much as storm into Percy’s room as he did stomp, so that his son would hear him coming, and understand his frustration.

“Care to explain why you’ve not been out of bed all day? Turning into a useless sack of rubbish are we? Or did someone swap places with your brain at school? Your mother, Merlin rest her soul, would have whip-”

He broke off, stopping short at the end of the bed, having reached the middle of Percy’s room before the full force of it hit him, like a punch to the gut, and sweat nearly sprung forth on his temples, over the palms of his hands.

Cloying and thick, it was the scent of something unmistakable.

Even before Percy replied, or rather, tried to, but all that came out was a sound resembling a sob.

“Papa… please… I don’t know. I haven’t been able to move without it hurting.”

Everything in Clayton’s head was screaming at him exactly what _it_ was, and the only thing he could think was that he needed to leave, get out of there, and down some whiskey. It was the only thing that would dull his senses, block the urges, stall the _need_.

“Percy… wait here. I’ll be right back.”

A hopeless mewl of ‘ _Papa’_ escaped Percy again, but Clayton was already gone, not quite slamming the door as he left.

His mind calmed, as his senses cleared, once free from the overwhelming scent and well on his way through a decanter of liquor. It was impossible, he had not been prepared for that, he’d been planning forever for when Percy’s first rut would hit, and that was that.

Instead, it turned out he’d been gifted exactly the opposite, and now, _everything_ would have to be adjusted. Blockers, lots of them, most likely off the black market would be a must have, as well as a private tutor who could be kept quiet.

Percy could not return to Ilvermorny like that, he wouldn’t survive a day at school smelling like that, surrounded by Beta’s and Alpha’s.

He sighed heavily, and tried to resist the surprisingly strong urge to cry, and go talk to the the final remaining remnant of Cece. It would change nothing, the advice he would get probably would only scrape the surface of what he was really looking for. The painting of Cecelia would tell him what he already knew. That he would need to be strong, for both of them now. He ordered an early dinner for them both to be sent to Percy’s room, and then stopped by his own for a cold towel to wipe his face, and then he washed it and grabbed another for his son.

He knew his son was probably terrified, confused about what had occurred, and frightened to death about how he would react.

That time, he walked in slow, quiet, careful, and approached so that Percy would see him coming first.

“Hey. Percy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you before.”

His son hadn’t been holding back any of his emotions, his cheeks shone with fresh tears, and even above the strong layer of protection that his drunk haze provided, he could _taste_ fear.

“Papa, what did I do wrong? Why did this happen? Am I sick?”

“Oh baby, you didn’t do a thing. It’s your biology.”

 _Special_ burned up on his tongue, tasting foul. Clayton couldn’t lie, he refused to sugarcoat it. But the most important thing he wanted Percy to know was that he still loved him. He wouldn’t be rejected, turned out on the street for being different. He wasn’t... It was all just so... unexpected.

He moved closer, and sat on the end of the bed, letting Percy come to him, and he did, naturally, he crawled to his side, and slowly curled up in his arms, cheek pressed to his chest.

“Papa, please, make it go away.”

Clayton put the cool cloth to his son’s forehead, and barely ignored the little sigh he let out, the relief from the burning fever raging through him. He glanced over to the middle of the bed, and noticed the wetness glistening on the sheets. Not from sweat nor accidental release, but soaked in _slick_.

It was why the entire room was permeated with the smell, and already tickling at his senses again, fighting past the whiskey.

“We need to get you a bath, hmm? Or maybe a quick shower before dinner. Can you do that on your own, baby?”

He couldn’t wait to set those sheets afire, and then air out the whole fucking room, but he also didn’t really want any chance of someone else - even though the closest neighbor was approximately ten acres away -  scenting the newly blossomed Omega.

Percy was still his strong and brave boy, so when he nodded, and began to pull away, he let him go, and watched him until he’d stepped inside the bathroom, and shut the door securely.

Clayton knew already that his son would likely try and stop it, whether by taking a cold shower, jerking himself raw, or daringly trying to finger himself to ease the ache. Thinking about that was a bad idea.

It wouldn’t work anyway, but Percy was stubborn. Telling him _‘no’_ would do no better than trying to stop the sun from setting or rising.

Clayton got up slowly, and then turned to stare down at the bed, at the evidence of his own bloodline’s betrayal, before giving into his frustration and casting _incendio_ with a subsequent _aguamenti_ before the house elves could be summoned by the smoke and walk in shrieking about what on earth did he think he was doing?!

 _Reparo_ followed, and then he made the bed back up, like it had never happened. Next he strode over to the ceiling above the door, where the ventilation could be seen, and murmured a quick charm to aerate the room, thinning the scent out throughout the entire house. It would be far less potent, thought to be some kind of flower perhaps, and finally, _finally_ he could breathe easier. Dinner arrived long before Percy had emerged from the bathroom, and though Clayton had been tempted to go check on his son, he didn’t want to push him, disturb him in the middle of something… intimate.

He sighed, and took a seat at the end of the newly put together bed, wrinkling the blankets as he sat, summoning another bottle, that time of a softer variety, a strong red wine that would keep his buzz lasting.

 

* * *

 

Percy was shivering, huddled against the cold tile of the shower wall, unwilling to leave, desperate to finish properly and end it. The water had started off cold, refreshing, blissful compared to how awfully sticky and sweaty his heated skin was, like it was trying to smother him. His own body was betraying him, working against him, trying to torture him into insanity. It didn’t make any sense. No matter how hard he stroked a hand over his cock, dripping and pulsing through constant miniature climaxes, nothing changed. The ache didn’t stop, the hot wetness between his legs remained gaping and leaking. It almost hurt to keep touching his cock, but he didn’t want to stop, not until nothing would emerge.

All his life he’d been told about what it would mean to be an Alpha, to be the responsible one, part of the elite leaders of the world, of America, how to best take his place in the long line of Graves men.

They had never mentioned that there was a chance for the universe to say ‘ **_no.’_ **

His father was the perfect Alpha, a man to look up to, to strive to be just like, and always demanded respect and emanated authority. Why, he was a Graves, so of course he did.

Percy finally turned off the water, which had grown lukewarm, and stifling, so that he could climb out, dripping, shivering, and pull a towel to his chest, hiding the awful seemingly permanent cramps between his legs, and deep in his gut. He’d woken with his cock hard many times, ever since turning eleven, he’d been amused and delighted by how early he’d reached puberty, and gladly anticipated his first rut, when he could finally start looking for a beautiful girl to request to court.

But now?

The idea was horrifying, because he would no longer be the one seeking a court, _he’d_ be the target of suitors. If it hadn’t been for one thing, he’d have not been so terrified. The only problem was, along with perpetual arousal, and constant erections, there was more.

The blooming warmth, a near painful burn and all the resulting slippery liquid which had _not stopped_ seeping out of him. Washing it away only caused his body to yield more! He knew it happened to girls, he knew it happened to Omegas in heat. But that had never been meant to apply to him, and yet, there he was, trailing slick as he walked over to look in the mirror above the sink, hating every inch of himself.

The towel didn’t serve much use, barely doing any good as he tucked it around his waist, and wiped away the steam clouding his reflection.

His face was flushed, his chest reddened from being hot, too hot, and his eyes were glassy, bloodshot from tears, though he wished more than anything he’d not given into the urge, it was too late. His father had seen him crying, shivering in a puddle of his body’s own betrayal.

He inhaled slowly, and exhaled slower still, but the stinging and burning didn’t go away. His hair was slicked back from his face, still wet from the shower, and dark as his thick eyebrows. They weren’t quite the same as his father’s, though they did have the same eyes, and nose. His father had been getting more and more silver in his brown hair, it was more noticeable when he grew a beard, as it came out almost entirely silvery white. Percy thought it only made him look that much more handsome, and he hoped he’d be just as nice looking when _he_ was old enough to be a father someday too.

It seemed it would happen all right, but not as he originally imagined. It was almost enough to make him start crying again, as he stumbled out of the bathroom, still only clad in his towel, hoping to keep himself dry as long as possible, instead of falling to the ground, he was caught, held firm in strong arms, which were then braced around his shoulders and chest.

“Perce, hey, what’s wrong?”

One of his father’s hands pushed back the damp strands that had fallen over his forehead, and he shook his head, not sure how to even put it to words. But there, in his father’s embrace, he did feel a little better. Overwhelmed by a comforting scent, something that bled safety, and _home_ , he could relax, a bit.

“C’mon, I had dinner brought up for you. It’s still warm.”

Food wasn’t really all that appealing as Percy suspected he might throw it right back up if another wave of pain crashed through his abdomen, though he wanted to be good, to obey, so he followed as his father guided him back to the bed, to sit down, to allow himself to be served little bites and sips.

“I should be doing this for myself Papa.” He found himself mumbling after a few minutes had passed in silence, and his father sighed, before shaking his head. Percy hadn’t realized what the sharper scent was until now, as his father leaned in to ruffle his hair. It was whiskey.

His father had been drinking, a lot.

“Perce, no, I’m supposed to take care of you baby. This is me doing that. You’re in a fragile state right now. Which is fine. We’re gonna get through it. Together.”

Percy blinked, and then nodded,

“Thank you Papa.”

“There you go. That’s the right response. You’re welcome, baby.”

By the time he had finished eating, little by little, Percy shifted back on the bed, and realized he’d soaked the towel through with slick. Once more, he was trembling with shame, and wanted to retreat to the shower, to simply stay in the cool four walls, and let himself be constantly washed clean.

“Why won’t it stop coming _out_?” His voice broke at the final word, the plea, and he couldn’t even bear to look at his father.

He remained quiet a long moment, before replying, and he didn’t have to be looking to know the man was also unable to look at him, but was still touching Percy, gently petting a hand over the nape of his neck as he rested a cheek against his father’s chest, held in the strong curve of his other arm.

“It will. Once you’ve had your heat sated. It should only last a few days.”

“Days?” Percy squeaked, and buried his face completely in his father’s shirt, willing the tears to stay down, back, hidden.

“Yes. the first one is always the worst. Once it’s passed, we’ll start you on some blockers. It shouldn’t take too long to get them. I know some people.”

Seedy, underground, those were the sorts of Omegas who rebelled, who fought off their heats, denied their birthright.

Percy had read about them. They were practically treated like criminals.

He didn’t want to live like that. He wanted to finish school, graduate, join MACUSA, train to be an Auror, and someday, maybe become President, make his father proud

All of that was just a nice, utterly impossible dream now.

“But what am I going to _do?_ ”

With his life, his career, his future.

That was what he meant, but his father just shushed him, and told him, “It’ll be alright. You’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t just a few days, it was a whole goddamn week. Getting rip-roaring blinding drunk every night was starting to wear on him, and it wasn't until he was out of fucking liquor that he realized it was the _seventh_ night in a row. Clayton sat back against the couch and stared at the flickering flames, wishing he could _will_ his people to work faster, to get those black market blockers shipped in sooner.

He’d drop more dragots if necessary, money was no object. He just knew he needed to end his boy’s suffering, needed to stop him being such a fucking _luscious_ tem ptation, just three halls and five bedrooms away. The soft padding of footsteps on the floor didn’t alert him, the _wave_ of sweetness did. Overpowering even the strongest gin in his arsenal, the bottle of which was now empty, and dangling from his fingers, Percy came into view, and he nearly cursed aloud. His son was naked but for a sheet wrapped around his shoulders, the back of which he knew instinctively was soaked through with slick, hell, it was dripping down his inner thighs still.

Every fucking night he went to bring the boy breakfast and had to spell him clean and dry. Then while Percy bathed, Clayton set the linens on fire and repaired them. Over and over and over.

He was so tired of it. Tired of fighting his very nature, resisting the one thing he really knew he couldn’t have, but still needed. Wanted with every fiber of his being.

He hadn’t needed to jerk off every night before bed since his Ilvermorny days, and even then it hadn’t been twice in a row, sometimes a third time in the shower before work.

Usually he would have just spelled it away, but then it would have eventually returned to bother him twicefold, around dinnertime, or anytime he’d be around his son, and he refused to allow himself to be distracted in such a manner.

So cold showers it was, with fervently stolen orgasms and a tight grip of his hand, desperately pretending he wouldn’t give in and picture Percy under his cock, and failing each and every time. His beautiful, perfect trusting boy, who was so fucking miserable from his heat. Clayton would never have considered doing anything like he constantly _did_ exactly that, not at least until every last option was exhausted.

Percy was hovering at the edge of the living room, uncertain, and not quite meeting his questioning gaze, so he spoke,

“What’s the matter baby?”

He knew his voice sounded rough, like he’d been going through a pack of cigarettes along with his nightly lush routine, but Percy just shrugged a shoulder, and shuffled a few steps closer. Clayton couldn’t reach for a throw pillow to hide his lap without making it more obvious, so he just sat up a little straighter, ignored the pounding in his temples, and set one hand in his lap, over his traitorous cock, and then held out his other hand, which Percy reached for at once, closing the final gap to climb onto the couch, scooting close enough to fit under his arm.

“What’s the matter baby? Can’t sleep?”

Of course the boy couldn’t, he was in agony all day every day, trying to ride out his heat without any sort of actual assistance. He knew that it would come to a head eventually, but he’d really been trying to ignore it.

“Papa, it hurts. But I feel better when I’m with you. Why is that?”

Percy wasn’t a fool, he was a clever boy and a quick learner, surely he’d guessed?

One of the boy’s hands crept over his chest, palming across his heart, and then further, to grasp at his sleeve, fingers caressing his bicep through his shirt.

“I think you know, baby.”

Clayton’s eyes were falling shut, the alcohol fighting to put him to sleep and also threatening to make him give in to what he didn’t want to, though it seemed Percy had a better idea of how to get it. His son crawled into his lap, and straddled his thighs, nosing in at his neck, lips just barely grazing the skin, making his eyes snap open, becoming fully alert once more, as a protest tried to form in the back of his throat.

“I need you, Papa. Please, help me.”

Clayton’s hands were already sliding down to span his son’s waist, fingers curling back, digging into the boy’s skin, feeling the damp cling of fabric, the scent stronger now that he could _touch_ it, and oh-h-h fuck. Percy was now actively grinding down on him, right over the knot desperately trying to form under his pants.

“Baby, we _can’t_. I can’t do this to you.”

“But Papa, I want you to. I need you…” Percy was actively rutting his hips now, gentle little thrusts, that made Clayton’s groin wetter with every move, and he knew the second that he gave in and kissed his son, he wouldn’t likely be able to stop, not for anything.

“You don’t know what you’re saying… you just want an Alpha, any Alpha would do…”

“ _No_ , I want _you_ Papa.”

Percy pulled back to look at him, dark eyes shining in the firelight, and tilted his head, baring his neck, revealing his scent gland, a small, swollen bump right under his ear, and he felt the last ounce of his control fracture. Clayton surged forward and kissed him, feeling a little gasp try to escape his son’s lips, and his hands grasped firmly over the boy’s slender hips, charming the sheet to vanish as he spelled open his pants. He tried to think, vaguely noting that he couldn’t just fuck him, he would preparation, _slow down_ , he thought to himself.

“Baby, you need to-”

“No Papa, please, take me.”

Percy lifted up and slid back down, humping right over Clayton’s length, slicking it up with just a couple passes, and then he could feel his son’s rim almost gaping, trying to swallow up the tip of his cock.

He sighed, and reached around further, spreading Percy’s cheeks and nudging a fingertip against his hole, halting his movements at once with a hint of teeth to his bottom lip,

“Be still.”

Percy’s entire body shivered, but for the most part, he did as he was told, and let himself be gently worked open, first one pair of fingers, then a second, until he was whimpering, actively thrusting against Clayton’s shirt, ruining it with dribbles from his little omegan cock.

“Papa, _p l e a s e_ take me.”

“Okay baby. Sit down.”

His son nodded eagerly, and did just that, though it was slower going than he’d probably anticipated, despite the copious slick, Percy was gritting his teeth and making small noises of discomfort the entire way.

Clayton petted a hand over his son’s back soothingly, and leaned in to kiss him again, murmuring against his lips,

“It’s okay baby. Just try and move when you can.”

He knew he’d need to get the boy off of him before he could knot, there could be no chance of keeping him on blockers if he had been knotted properly, and it killed him to remember that in his last moment of clarity. He guided Percy’s hands to his shoulders, so he could get a bit of leverage, and start to lift up and shift back down again, every sound of every thrust obscene in such a large and mainly empty room. He shuddered to think what the house elves would gossip about now, even though, surely, this couldn’t be the first occurrence of such a thing in a founding family.

Or maybe it was, and the reasoning was simply new. Clayton didn’t know what might have happened had _he_ turned out to be an Omega, but he suspected he wouldn’t be where he was now. He certainly wouldn’t be having to fuck his own son to end his first heat.

“Papa… it hurts…”

Fuck.

Clayton could feel himself getting close, and as he watched, Percy’s head fell back, exposing his scent gland once more, as his small body was wracked with his first climax, while currently being filled up properly by an Alpha. Had it been anyone else, Clayton would have called it a thing of beauty. As it was, he felt far too overwhelmed with shame to enjoy the sight of it. His son was lovely, would grow up to be extremely handsome, he knew, but it was hard to watch him like that, and know that it was because of him.

“It’s okay baby, I’m about to stop you.”

“Wh-a-a-t?”

Percy shivered through another orgasm, and his release was more like water that time, spilling clumsily from the small flushed tip of his cock, but Clayton had to move _now,_ had to get him away him before it was too late.

“Hold tight baby.”

He stood up, and lifted Percy with both hands under his arms, carefully manhandling him back onto the couch, with his head hanging off the side just slightly, at the right height to allow him to ease his cock between his son’s kiss swollen lips.

“Papa-”

“Shh-hh baby. It’s almost over. Just keep your mouth open.”

He put his hand to his cock, and stroked himself, gripping as hard as he could, imitating Percy’s perfect virgin hole, with plenty of slick still clinging to his fingers and wetting his hold.

His eyes fell shut as he moved faster, tugging almost mercilessly over his cock, unable to see or feel or do anything but try to force himself to finish, to knot somewhere harmless. When he was so close as to be on the cusp, he pushed forward, fucking right in between Percy’s parted lips, and groaning at the wet warmth which grazed over his sensitive skin. Percy’s tongue wasn’t lax, it flickered a few times over the top of his length, tickling against the head and catching the slit when he pushed in even deeper, finally, _finally_ , his knot popped, and he let go of himself, doing his best to pump his release into Percy’s throat, panting for breath as his orgasm washed over him, and his knees threatened to give out.

“So good baby, perfect.”

Percy might have been humming in protest or acknowledgement, either way the sound vibrated through him, spurring on his aftershocks, and letting a few more drops spill out the sides of his mouth, down his chin, so that when Clayton finally moved back, cock at last beginning to soften, Percy could speak, coughing, choking on what he couldn’t swallow, turning to the side.

He noticed that his son was crying again and he sighed, hating himself all over again for what he’d been forced to do.

“I’m sorry baby. C’mere.”

He dropped to his knees and slid his hands under Percy’s trembling thighs, tugging him close, to press his lips to the boy’s stomach, licking at the sticky spend from his own release, and then dragging his tongue down, past the small softened cock.

Percy writhed around, and tried to touch his hair, mumbling under his breath that he shouldn’t, didn’t need to,

“Baby, shush. I’m gonna clean you up proper.”

Clayton’s mouth finally made contact with the glistening pink of his son’s hole, and it was like an explosion of sugary nectar on his taste buds, he was mindless, nosing in and licking as deep as he could, barely noticing the sharp tang from his own precome mingling, before he’d managed to pull away.

Percy mewled and shifted his hips, pressing closer, and when he glanced up, he noticed his son was getting hard again, so he spared a hand to stroke over his cock, and gripped the thigh in his other hand tighter.

“Papa… what are you-”

He smiled against his boy’s silky skin, and dipped back down, cleaning away every stray drop, until finally, the feverish lilt to Percy’s voice had left, and he was just panting for air, collapsed on his back, while his legs were relaxed and dangling over Clayton’s shoulders.

“It’s okay baby. Come whenever you want.”

He was grinding the palm of his hand over Percy’s cock, slippery with precome on his stomach, and he suckled one last time, a bit harder, against the boy’s hole, as he felt his whole body shudder from his climax.

“Good boy.”

He leaned back, sitting on his heels, staring down at his son, who looked content, for the first time all week. It gave him a pang somewhere deep inside his chest to know it had been because of him, and yet, wouldn’t last forever.

He murmured a quick spell to clean up his boy, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, lips still tingling, it was hard to resist licking them off, chasing that singular taste.

 

Percy didn’t flinch away from him, but actually whimpered and begged to be closer, when he collapsed onto the other side of the couch, his son was instantly at his side, snuggling into his arms.

At long last, Percy could have a break from the constant waves of slick, the cramps, and no more fever, as well as get some sleep throughout the night. He conjured another sheet to replace the one he’d shredded in his haste, and tucked it around Percy’s shoulders, fixing up his pants, and putting away his sated cock.

“Papa… will it always be like that?”

He swallowed thickly, and shook his head, not wanting to lie to his boy.

“I don’t know.”

Clayton didn’t have any way to guarantee that _every_ heat would last so long or be much shorter, or if he’d be able to find a viable partner who was good and kind and patient. But he’d be damned if he was going to put his son in any danger, the blockers would do what they needed.

They would protect him.

As long as it was possible.

 

* * *

 

**end**

 

 

 

 

* * *

 


End file.
